


Glue & Broken Pieces

by DeannaWesson



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Broken Mind, Ficlet, First New Writing In Ages, Friendship, Gen, Healing, My First Work in This Fandom, Post-Captain America: The Winter Soldier, Recovery, post-CATWS, ship if you squint
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-12
Updated: 2016-02-12
Packaged: 2018-05-19 20:59:55
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 750
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5980768
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DeannaWesson/pseuds/DeannaWesson
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A ficlet on Bucky, broken things and healing.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Glue & Broken Pieces

**Author's Note:**

> -This is the first NEW thing I have written in YEARS. I hope you guys don't hate it.  
> -Also, first time writing anything MCU related but I love Marvel so it probably won't be the last.

The inside of a person’s head can be funny place. It’s individual to each but some similarities make it possible for doctors to diagnose issues and try and help those affected. 

Bucky sometimes tried to give a picture, a photograph almost, to the inside of his head but all he got was vague memories of some random teenagers’ room from TV. Or maybe the aftermath of a robbery…or a police raid.

Broken objects, torn books, clothe everywhere, no idea where anything was. Fragments of things that looked or smelt familiar but nothing quite intact. In fact, the only things that remained with any resemble at all were a couple of photos, photos of some blonde guy.  Somehow Bucky always knew that it was the same guy, despite one picture being of someone small and bird boned and the other of a tall Adonis, ready to take on the world.

If it really was his room and not his messed up head, he could sit down and shuffle through things, glue broken bits together until they formed a whole. But how do you put back together a brain that’s been broken so many times? Whether its luck or just Zola’s knockoff serum, the fact that he’s not dead or brain dead is surprising.

And he IS healing.

Slowly, like waiting for molasses to pour out of the jar…only slower.

A month ago, he didn’t know his own name, not really. A week ago, he got really twitchy and nearly had an anxiety attack just looking out the window. Today…today he knows he is, or was, James Buchanan Barnes. He doesn’t feel particularly attached to the name and doesn’t know what that means to who he is now but he’s made the conscious decision that he DOESN’T want to go by James and is okay with going by Bucky.

Conscious decisions. Steve was very proud.

And, at the moment, he was curled up in an arm chair near the big picture window, watching cars and people scurry like insects hundreds of feet below. He didn’t want to be out there but it was interesting to watch from a distance.

The other reason for his continued improvement was sitting about 8 feet away, stretched out on the couch and flipping through a book. Light from the picture window turned Steve’s hair to a soft gold halo and the sound of the flipping pages was soothing background noise.  Sometimes he sketched. On the rare occasion, he slept. But Steve could always be counted on to never be far away if Bucky needed him, and had been this way since Bucky had turned himself in to Avengers tower.

Bucky was thankful. It had taken him time to remember and re-learn emotions but now…he was thankful for the support and steadfastness of the one person who seemed to remember who he had been before Hydra. He was thankful for the stubborn punk that wouldn’t give up on him or let him climb into a dark hole to wallow in the memories of being Hydra’s weapon.

Turning from the window, Bucky’s eyes slid over the glowing halo, the bright blue eyes, the broad shoulders encased in a simple t-shirt and long legs in sweats then down to bare feet. There were more feelings. Relief (no longer sick), wonder (still his friend), simple joy. And something he didn’t have a name for, not yet. It was a warm feeling, almost a dizzy feeling. It was new but resonated like something old.

Rather than giving himself a headache to chase it down like he once would have, Bucky just slid to his feet and wandered over to the couch. Without even looking up, Steve moved his feet and the ex-assassin flopped down like a tired puppy, wedging himself between the back of the couch and Steve’s propped up knees. Now he could feel and smell as well as see and it made all the feelings stronger, especially the unnamed one.

Steve slid a hand into his hair and Bucky sighed, eyes sliding shut as fingers combed gently through the messy strands. Yes, he was broken and messy, still sitting inside his brain desperately trying to glue broken things together. But for now, he didn’t have to do anything but just be. Maybe tomorrow the feeling would have a name. Maybe tomorrow, something would be more whole. But this was okay, for now, because he was healing and something were still intact and he had Steve.


End file.
